


Inside My Dreams

by kxllington



Series: post!ybc [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video)
Genre: Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hallucinations, M/M, Peterick - established relationship, The Young Blood Chronicles, but more angst rlly, married peterick, post young blood chronicles, ptsd probably, technically a sequel but can be read standalone, this is kinda sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-28
Updated: 2016-11-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 21:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8683798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxllington/pseuds/kxllington
Summary: That nameless Los Angeles forest fills his vision, blinding him with intense morning sun. The bite in his mouth goes from sweet and cool to metallic and hot. Pete looks down at the apple and screams; it's bloody.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a sequel to The Kids Aren't Alright (Mainly Patrick), but it can be read standalone. It's Pete's turn to suffer lmao
> 
> Enjoy!

Orange light streams into the bedroom,broken up by the blinds on the windows. Pete snuffles, eyelashes flickering against the back of Patrick's neck. He stubbornly presses closer to the singer, willing himself to stop waking up, to drift back off, but unfortunately, it's no use. He sighs softly, opening his bleary eyes. Blinking the sleep away, he unravels his arms from around his husband. Carefully, he leaves the room and heads downstairs without a sound.

Right off the bat, as he trudges to the living room, he knows the day is going to be off. Ever since everything with Silence The Noise a few years ago, he could just tell. Maybe even before then, with his anxiety pooling low in his 20-something stomach way back when. But still, as Pete collapses onto the couch, he feels the hairs on his neck raise and the deep rooted discomfort setting in.

 _It's probably just a morning thing_ , Pete thinks, tucking his feet underneath him. Grabbing the remote, the bassist resolves to ignore the feeling until it goes away. He surfs through the channels, finally landing on some early morning talk show. His eyelids still droop a bit and he curses himself for not setting the coffee maker for an earlier time. Sighing, he melts into the cushions, allowing himself to be sucked into some casserole recipe they're testing out.

After about a half an hour of watching two fake-smiling newscasters gossip, he hears a beep from the coffee maker. Smiling softly, Pete hauls himself up, negative feelings almost completely gone. Bouncing into the kitchen, he heads for the cupboard. Pulling out his and Patrick's favourite mugs, he mixes up their drinks. He'll wake up the singer in a moment. For now, Pete sips his coffee peacefully, watching out the window as the clouds drift lazily through the pink sky.

His stomach growls suddenly, and Pete purses his lips, setting his coffee down. He peeks into another cupboard, frowning as he realizes they're out of his favourite cereal. Huffing, he turns towards the fridge, staring in pensively. After a moment, he pulls out an apple.

He takes a single bite.

That nameless Los Angeles forest fills his vision, blinding him with intense morning sun. The bite in his mouth goes from sweet and cool to metallic and hot. Pete looks down at the apple and screams; it's bloody. So is his hand, drops of crimson cutting through the dirt and grime caked on them. The apple's insides look like meat.

Pete screams again, dropping the fruit. He falls to his knees, feeling his eyes burn. The blood causes his lips to stick together, and he knows he should probably retch, but can't. He's frozen, save for his erratic breath. Dazed eyes meet the dirt beneath him, and a snake slithers through, taunting him. Pete goes white.

" _FUCK_!" The bassist cries, spurred back into motion. He shuffles awkwardly back, skittering away from the reptile. He bashes into the counter, which he sees as a large tree. His heart pounds out of his chest as the snake comes closer, an evil glint in its dead eyes.

///////

Patrick nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a scream downstairs. His eyes fly open, and immediately he's fumbling his way out of the bed, worried. He stumbles out of the bedroom, hand forgotten.

"Pete!?" Patrick calls out, running down the hallway. He flies down the stairs, following the sounds of panicked breathing in the otherwise silent house. The singer slides into the kitchen, greeted by an apple on the floor. A bite is missing. Pressed against the cupboard under the sink is Pete, tears streaming down his face and nearly hyperventilating. He's staring in horror at an invisible being on the floor. Something in Patrick's chest clenches when he realizes what's happening: Pete's hallucinating.

" _Pete_?" Patrick tries again, voice softer. Pete looks up, pupils completely contracted in his reddened eyes. His face contorts further in terror, and he screams again. Patrick feels his heart shatter. "Pete, it's me," the singer murmurs, taking a step forward, "it's Patrick." Pete presses back against the cupboard impossibly further.

"Please d-don't kill me!" The bassist pleads, desperate. Patrick can feel tears pricking at his eyes, and he looks down in shame at his stump wrist. "Not again!"

///////

Pete's sitting on the ground, morning dew seeping into his jeans as the Vixens' snake comes ever closer. He can feel wet tracks on his cheeks, and blood sticky and gross in his mouth.

" _PETE_." Comes a garbled, angry voice. The bassist looks up terror, meeting yellow eyes. The beast stands mere feet away, hook bloodied and glistening in the sun. It's eyes pierce into Pete's soul, so maliciously twisted on his best friend's face. More burning tears follow the tracks cut through the dirt on his face, and he presses himself flush against the tree. The beast step forward, growling out words again.

"Please d-don't kill me!" Pete chokes out. Somehow, he knows the beast has gotten him before, and it looks down at its hook in contemplation. "Not again!"

The beast looks back up at him, golden glare boring into him. It growls something incoherent, stepping forward again. Pete raises his arms in defence, squeezing his eyes shut. He waits for the sharp hook to slash into his flesh, for knuckles to crack against his cheek, but it never comes. The beast kneels in front of him.

Angry, yellow eyes meet his, unwavering and animalistic. Pete stares back in fear, unsure. The beast extends its arms, and the hook nearly touches him. The bassist lets out a noise, flinching. The beast looks down at the hook, then retracts that arm, putting it behind its back. Something in its face seems to soften, looking more Patrick-like. Pete's brow furrows in confusion.

The snake bumps the beast's boot. It doesn't notice. The snake slithers away.

"...PETE...." The beast grinds out. The bassist looks up, swallowing thickly. The tinge of the blood seems to fade. The beast tugs him roughly into a hug.

"...come......out of..... _please_ , Pete..." It murmurs, words dissolving in and out in fragment. Pete feels the fear starting to lose its edge, confusion replacing it. Why would the beast hug him instead of killing him? Unless...

"Patrick?" Pete whispers, hesitantly. He feels the beast shift, pulling back. It's eyes are still angry yellow, but it's lips move with coherent words.

"Yes. Pete, come back now, c'mon..." Patrick's voice flows from its mouth, free of the demonic rasp. Slowly, Pete notices the forest disappearing from around them. The kitchen returns, slowly, and the beast fades away too, fierce expression being replaced by a concerned Patrick. Greenish-blue bleeds into the yellow irises, overtaking them entirely and shining with unshed tears. Pete blinks harshly.

"W-...what?" Pete croaks, trying to regulate his breathing. Patrick smiles sadly, tilting his head. He places a warm hand over his husband's cold, clammy ones.

"You had an episode," the singer answers, voice gentle, "Triggered by the apple." Pete glances hazily at the fruit, abandoned on the floor. He sighs heavily and places his head in his hands.

"Throw it out for me, please." He whispers. Patrick obliges, quickly reaching for the apple. He tosses it into the garbage under the sink, never losing contact with Pete. When he settles again, he sets his hand sympathetically on Pete's thigh.

"Pete?" Patrick asks quietly. The bassist's head doesn't leave his hands.

"I'm sorry." He says, voice thick. Patrick leans in, setting the tip of his other arm against Pete, too.

"You did nothing wrong."

" _Sure_ , I didn't." Pete grits out, "I begged you not to kill me. That's something pretty fucking wrong."

"Pete, love, it's okay. I know you couldn't help it, you were seeing it instead." Patrick reassures him. Pete just nods, unconvinced. After a beat of silence, the singer rubs his thigh soothingly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No." Pete answers immediately. "Not yet, I can't yet." Patrick smiles, bringing his hand up to wipe the tears off Pete's cheek.

"Okay. Only when you're ready." Patrick pulls Pete in gently to kiss him, short and sweet. The bassist hesitantly quirks his lips into something resembling a smile, and the singer returns it happily. "I think Ellen's gonna come on soon, let's get out of this kitchen." Patrick suggests softly. Pete sucks in a dry breath, nodding.

"Okay." He replies. Patrick pushes himself up off the floor, quickly reaching down to help his husband up. With shaking hands, Pete grabs their coffees, allowing himself to be led back to the couch. He curls into Patrick's side as the opening to Ellen rolls, and smiles softly at the arm wrapped around his neck, visible in the corner of his eye. There's no hook to be seen on it, and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes.

He's fine.


End file.
